Inventory
by Mana7
Summary: An evening in the lives of two doctors. Conclusion!
1. Inventory

Title: Inventory

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Mostly not mine, but let a girl dream.

Summary: A springtime afternoon, from Abby's POV.

Author's Notes: My sister's in town with her baby, and no one's been writing new stuff lately, so I sat down, and this is what appeared. I had Carby in mind, but that's not necessarily incorporated.The italic parts are Abby's thoughts, or a journal, or a conversation, I left it up in the air. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

_Sometimes I wish I'd been a little more careful doing everything I'd done. If I'd slowed down and sat back, just to watch what was going on, maybe good things would have come sooner._

* * *

Lifting the tiny brush from my toe, I scrape away a splash of purple with my fingernail. I wipe my finger on a strand of grass beside me and look up when a happy shriek erupts a few yards away.

"There you go," my mother coos. "All grown up on the swing!" Giggles and a flash of yellow sundress whoosh past me. "Look how much she likes it," my mom calls. I smile, six toes to go.

* * *

_I wish I'd been a bit more aggressive, and sought out those things I desired. I used to wait, sipping my coffee, smoking a cigarette; waiting for the good times to dawn._

* * *

Delia shouts more now, not so happily. She is lifted out of the swing by her grandmother, and I laugh as she's passed to me. My mom plays the role of fair-weather fan very nicely. I'm the one to deal with a fuss.

"Come here, baby," I grin, and she grins back at me. "Did you like that?"

I have always enjoyed making people laugh, though usually it has been with my dry sarcasm. Now I aim to encourage a new kind of laughter—happy.

* * *

_ And I told him once I wished he would leave me, that's another regret I have. I shouldn't have seen myself as such a danger. I wasn't really, now I know._

* * *

On a blanket, my mother and I eat our sandwiches, and Delia chews on her favorite ice cube tray. I'm listening to my mother recount an article from the paper, about how it's a great time to buy into Chicago real estate.

"It's always been a great time if you have the money," I tell her. "Prices just go up and up."

"Well, I was thinking about it."

"What?" I'm surprised.

"Well you're here, and Delia," she pats the baby's back. "And I like the city…"

"That would be great," I tell her, though really I don't know. For a week, she's fine. But years? I can just imagine the stress, the worry, the babysitting.

* * *

_I should express my feelings more. Those other faults, I've mostly resolved. But still, I keep everything internal. When something hurt, I was never one to let it show. I hide my worries, my fantasies, my internal dialogue. I don't know why, I just never felt it was appropriate to let those things be known._

* * *

"Abby?" my mom inquires. I've been silent for a while.

"Do you want ice cream?" I ask, rising to strap Delia into her stroller. The baby's face screws up, on the verge of a yell. I hand her a hat to suck.

"Abby…" my mother presses.

"I have been craving mint chocolate chip for a week now!" She scowls. "Really mom, I said it would be good."

The stroller bumps along as I push it over the grass and onto the hike-and-bike trail.

"Two sugar cones please."

* * *

_Mostly I think I'm okay, with just a few razor sharp edges in need of filing. I'm much better than I was, at least._

* * *

On the El, Delia is asleep in my mother's lap. I'd like to lean against her shoulder, too, and sleep. Surprised at such a daughterly urge, I am quick to resist. Instead, I lean against the pole by my headrest, there for passengers to hold on an overcrowded train. I allow my eyelids to drift closed.

"Ravioli?" she asks.

"What was that?"

"Dinner."

"Uh, sure." It is so good to have a cook around.

* * *

_I'm letting myself see that I need my mother, I guess. Admitting to myself I'm not alone, which is something I've never done. More than not showing others my inner thoughts, I've rarely even permitted myself to see them. I should have let myself know when I was angry or sad or needed help or was in love._

* * *

After a stop at the grocery store for dinner supplies, I'm again holding a screaming baby as we climb the stairs to the door. I rattle the handle and my mom thrusts the key upside down. He opens the door, arms outstretched, and lifts a suddenly quiet Delia from my grasp. I resent his calming powers.

"How was it?" he asks, and she beams.

He takes groceries from my mom, and taps his lips on my cheek. "Sit down ladies, you look exhausted."

* * *

_I love coming home, where my good life is. Where I'm learning to fit in, and not much else matters._

**Step Four: Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.**

* * *

Please review, your comments make my day. I thought I might continue this, maybe from other POVs, what do you think? Thanks!


	2. Removal

Title: Removal (Inventory pt. 2)

Rating: PG

Summary: Moving day, Carter's POV this time

Author's Note: I wasn't sure I'd go on, especially since I began at Step 4, but some kind reviews convinced me—thanks guys! I think I'll write another chapter or two, now. I hope you like it.

* * *

_I think I'm ready. Ready to expose my soft underbelly. I'm ready to be set free._

* * *

"One…two…three!" We groan as we heave the box down the ramp and off the van. From the weight, I figure it must contain a cast-iron bed at least. The label says "comforters." Code, I guess.

Our knees crack as we climb way too many stairs, grunting with every step.

"How's it going? Need a break?" he asks with breath from an unfathomable source.

"Fine," I manage, teeth grinding.

* * *

_I want to leave the faults behind. I've seen where my dark side can take me. I don't like it as much as I like this._

* * *

We reach the open door straining. Even Muscle Man has run out of breath. His mother greets us, "There you are," with a look asking what took you so long.

I'm about ready to drop the thing here in the entry, but Maggie reaches for her furniture plan. We wait as she rotates the paper, orienting herself, and we try not to let looming complaints escape.

"Mom, linen closet," Eric grunts.

She laughs (we don't). "No, those are actually appliances. You never know with the moving companies these days." Neither of us remind her she loaded, drove, and unpacked the truck herself.

* * *

_I'm ready to get a longer rope. I'm going to be tolerant and patient and not get frustrated. I'll think things through and talk things out, please._

* * *

Ten minutes later, we've maneuvered the hallway, angled through the doorway, and the box is plopped on the floor. Smiling, Eric and I put our hands in our pockets, proud of our strength.

"That's it?" Abby's voice enters moments before she does.

"Yep, last one." The four of us gaze about the small home, boxes stacked haphazardly against every wall.

"Ready to unpack?" Behind us, the baby squeals.

* * *

_I've been holding myself back, unwilling to leap. Recognizing my vices for a while now, I've been afraid to let them go. The bad parts of myself are just as familiar as the good, sometimes even more comfortable._

* * *

I'm about ready to scream. Abby is too, from the way she's so forcefully yanking clothes from the box she's emptying. If I knew the other two better, I'd probably be able to say they're ready to kill too. And Delia? Well, she _is_ screaming.

We've taken the overly ambitious room-by-room approach to unpacking. A room must be complete before we continue to the next. We're halfway through with the master bedroom, and Abby's two hours away from her midnight shift. By unpacking this way, we've been cooped together for hours, jostling and getting in each other's way.

"Have you seen the lamp?" a bitter voice calls as I'm shoving the desk. "I can't put anything in the closet till I find it."

"Have you seen the closet?"

* * *

_I'm ready to shake free from the clutches of the bad times and plunge whole-heartedly into the good. I see happy so close I can feel it sometimes. That's what I want for all the time._

* * *

Perched on boxes, we eat our dinner at last. Cold hotdogs, because we've lost the microwave and couldn't find a pan for the stove. Abby leans against the side of my box and my leg, cradling a sleeping baby. "Shh, shh," she's humming between bites.

To look around the room, you'd see the same sight as hours ago, a roomful of cardboard and plastic.

"At least the bedroom's done," Eric says.

"Have a good sleep, mom" his sister agrees.

"I'm sure we all will," their mother adds, sharing her fortune. Abby and I give each other a look—an eight-hour shift doesn't qualify as a good sleep.

* * *

_Okay, so take it away, please. I am so eager for the calluses to soften. Today I'm bidding a final goodbye to that final bad habit. I want only good qualities to remain._

* * *

"Finally," she breathes as she slips into bed at a time most would call morning.

"How'd it go?" I ask her shoulder.

"Need sleep," a sigh lingers. My hands rub her back, on the sides of her spine, and I watch her head droop to the pillow. Hours ago, I did the same, now I'm rested, ready to watch as she dreams.

G-O-O-D-N-I-G-H-T my fingers spell across her sides, and I whisper the word as I write.

* * *

_I won't be flawless, and I won't be in bliss, but I'll be a lot more free than I was._

* * *

**Step Seven: Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.**

Please review, all of your comments are greatly appreciated.


	3. Living

Title: Living (Inventory Ch. 3)

Rating: PG

Spoilers: none

Disclaimer: (forgot this last time) NOT MINE, except the plot and the baby.

Summary: We heard Abby and Carter working through the Steps, living with their new baby, helping Maggie move in. Now here's the conclusion, from _my_ POV.

Author's Note: This is the final chapter (though I'm contemplating an epilogue). I've appreciated your reviews, and hope to hear that you like this one too.

* * *

_Outwardly, they are the same as always, but for the increased amounts of smiles and the aroma of baby they wear._

* * *

As she lays her head in her arms, leaning against the Admit desk, she sighs. Suddenly, a hand appears on her back, accompanied by a voice.

"Pooped?" he asks.

Abby groans. "Is it so obvious?"

He laughs. "It's 5:30, are you about ready?"

"I wanted to check on the asthma kid one last time," she says, turning to face him. "You could go get Delia, though."

He acts serious. "I didn't say _I _ was free." But at her exhausted glare he smirks. "Sure."

* * *

_Internally, they are unrecognizable. What's missing is the grime, that which they called their "baggage." Aptly named for its bulk._

* * *

John enters the hospital daycare to a happy yell. She'd shout "Daddy!" if she could.

"Delia!" he crouches with outstretched arms. The baby hobbles to him on newly walking legs. "There's my girl!"

He lifts her high into the air and asks the daycare teacher "How was she?"

The woman smiles at the baby before answering, "Not an angel, but certainly great to have around."

Stroking his daughter's sprouting locks, he says thanks, and see you tomorrow. To Delia he whispers, "Let's find your mama," and she wriggles in his arms, impatient.

* * *

_There is no such thing as an aura cleansing, both have learned. They know after years of searching for quick fixes. Cleanliness is next to godliness, so naturally it takes years worth of hard work._

* * *

Upon entering the lounge, Susan greets father and daughter. She rubs Delia's cheek, trying not to wake the sleeping child.

"Waiting for the work-a-holic again, huh?" she says in an over-exaggerated whisper.

He chuckles. "An asthmatic becomes a face lac becomes kidney stones. Pretty soon, we've been waiting an hour."

"She cares too much to leave them," Susan suggests.

"Or she's dreading another dinner with her mother," he chides. She laughs. "Would you mind holding Delia while I go find her?" He passes the baby to his eager friend.

* * *

_So they have endured years worth of work, and will endure many more. When they met, the two were shrouded in dark. Now they've confronted problems and they've applied solutions._

* * *

"Abby," he calls into an exam room.

"I'll be right back," she tells her patient. In the hallway she says she's almost done.

"Just like you were an hour ago."

"Caaarteer," a half-kidding whine. "Hold on." She yawns.

"You were tired an hour ago too."

She smiles. "I was tired six hours ago."

"Okay, good reason to go home then, right?"

Lifting and kissing his hand, her smile widens. "I've already got plenty of reasons for that."

Her tactic works, and he relents. "Finish this patient," he directs, "then we'll go." She agrees, but he follows her back into the exam room anyway, to supervise.

* * *

_It is not as if they don't get urges: to feed their addictions, to slip back in unwanted ways. Now they know what to do with their urges. They've taught themselves to tackle._

* * *

At last the family exits the sliding EMERGENCY doors. They step into the twilight mentally recapping the workday that has passed, hand in hand. Moments later, Abby straps a screaming baby into her car seat. "I know sweetie, you must be hungry."

"Me too," he calls from the front seat.

"I'm starving." She slips into the seat beside him.

"Then why'd you put off dinner with your mother for so long?"

"Not dinner, just my mother." They laugh above Delia's cries as they pull away.

* * *

_And so they go on, applying the techniques they've learned. They live life as others do, only more beware. And more prepared._

* * *

After dinner, which wasn't so bad and was actually quite satisfying, he lounges on Maggie's couch.

"Pah pah pah," the baby on his stomach bounces because of the muscles he uses to create the syllable. Mother and grandmother stand behind the couch and laugh with Delia, coffee cups in hand.

"Look at your family, Abby." The thought escapes Maggie's lips in amazement.

"I'm looking."

They watch the bouncing duo for a while, filled with emotion for different, similar reasons.

Maggie turns to her daughter. "I went on Tuesday." The daughter wants to ask where, but instead asks, "How was it?"

"Good," is the heartfelt response. Abby purses her lips and turns to give her mother a small, proud smile. Then she looks away, back to her newer family.

"If you do it right, it's a miracle."

* * *

_Together, they are a miracle, albeit a common one. They grow and change and distribute joy to those around them and to each other._

**Step Twelve: Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these Steps, we tried to carry this message to others, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.**


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